


Touch Me

by sibylla



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Internalized Homophobia, Kissing, M/M, Post-Civil War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-24
Updated: 2015-01-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 02:39:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,838
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3192182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sibylla/pseuds/sibylla
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On a hot, sultry summer's night, Arthur tries to teach Merlin how to read.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Touch Me

_“Touch me, touch the palm of your hand to my body as I pass,_  
Be not afraid of my body.”  
― Walt Whitman, _Leaves of Grass_

 

A blessedly cool breeze blows through the open window, causing the whitewashed shutters to clack against the exterior of the house. Arthur leans against the side of the bed, stretches his legs out in front of him, and enjoys the slight reprieve from the stifling heat that has been plaguing Charlotte for over a week now. He cups a hand around the flame of the candle that he had set on the floor next to his leg; it won’t do for the light to go out, since he’s already used up his last match. He’s not risking a trip downstairs to fetch the bigger lanterns. Nearly every step of the stairs leading to the ground floor squeaks something dreadful, and currently, the whole house is dark and silent. If his father gets to know—

 _Squeak_.

Arthur breathes a curse and gets to his feet; he carefully opens the door, and glowers at Merlin’s apologetic face. “Well, get _in_ , you imbecile,” he hisses, tugging the boy into the room by the strap of his overalls.

“Who’re you callin’ an imbecile,” Merlin says indignantly, staring at him as he closes the door and locks it. “Why’re you so damn tetchy all the time? Your father won’t—”

“He wouldn’t approve of this,” Arthur mutters, voice low, though he knows that it’s alright to speak normally — his room is in the East Wing of the house, too far from Morgana’s, his father’s, or the servants’ quarters.

“Yes, God forbid you spread literacy.” Merlin sits down on the floor next to the candle. Arthur retrieves his copy of the Bible and a book of Whitman’s poems from the side table and sits next to him—not too close, mind. There’s another reason why Arthur is— _techy_ , and he really, really, really does not want to think about it. In fact, if truth be told, that reason is probably why he is feeling unreasonably paranoid about this. “So,” he says to Merlin, placing a black slate and chalk in front of his crossed legs. “Spell _leaves_.”

Merlin does remarkably well; out of the ten arbitrary words Arthur gives him off of the top of his head, he only misses one.

“Pleth-what?” Merlin splutters, squinting at Arthur in the dim light provided by the candlestick. “What is that?”

“ _Plethora_ ,” Arthur enunciates. “It means a large quantity of something. A plethora of soldiers, for example. You’ve never heard that word before?”

“No,” Merlin mutters sulkily, dragging a finger through the chalk on the slate, messing up the carefully printed word _LANTERNS_. “Sorry, wasn’t brought up with fifty tutors teaching me Greek and Latin.”

“I don’t know Greek.” He does know a fair bit of Latin, though.

Merlin shrugs and brings his knees up to his chin, wrapping his arms around them. Something’s troubling Merlin, judging by the crease between his dark eyebrows and way the corners of his mouth are turned down. He’s wearing an old shirt, frayed at the corners, and his dirty overalls. Against his better judgment, Arthur scoots closer and loops an arm around Merlin’s neck.

“C’mon, why you lookin’ like that?” He rubs a hand through Merlin’s hair, making him yelp. “What’s up?”

“Nothin’, ugh, lett _go_!”

They tussle for a few seconds, Arthur managing to keep him in a firm headlock, before Merlin splutters,

“I might be leavin’!”

Arthur lets him go, stares at him in the dim, flickering light. Merlin’s eyes, if it could’ve been possible, seem to be stretched wider than his own, irises like great, blue orbs. “ _What_ did you say?” Arthur didn’t hear right, he couldn’t have heard right.

Merlin licks his lips. “I—I might be leavin’. Up the country to Pennsylvania or someplace like that.”

Against his will, Arthur follows the movement of Merlin’s tongue as it wets his lips. Flushing, he snaps his eyes back up to Merlin’s face—but Merlin isn’t looking at him. He’s frowning down at his hands. “You’re going to Pennsylvania,” Arthur says slowly.

“Or New York,” Merlin says hastily, eyes flicking up to meet his. “I dunno exactly.”

“Why?”

“’Cause Gaius is movin’ and he wants me to come along, ‘cause y’know how I’m like his—” Merlin gestures his hands about nonsensically. “Nephew, sorta.”

Arthur gets it; Gaius had been great friends with Merlin’s ma, Hunith. Then Hunith had passed away.

“Makes sense,” Arthur grunts, turning away to stare at the door. There’s something heavy falling through the pit of his stomach—dread, utter _dread_ , at the thought of Merlin leaving. “Why’s he moving?”

“Didn’t say exactly, but I’ll be willna guess that he can’t stand Uther anymore.” Merlin gives me another apologetic look, like he’s expecting Arthur to start raging. “Y’know, after the way he’s treatin’ the croppers—”

Sure Uther freed his slaves after the War, but that didn’t mean that they had a place to go. The Africans had remained on the plantation and worked for cheap labor as sharecroppers— slaves in all but name.

“You know I tried to talk to him,” Arthur says quietly.

“Yeah, like that worked.” Merlin’s warm hand lands on his biceps and squeezes. “But thank you, Arthur. You do care for us.”

“You’re not one of them.” Arthur turns, a little indignantly, and is slightly shell-shocked at how close Merlin’s face is. “You’re a house servant—”

“We’re one and the same,” Merlin says gravely. The hand on his upper arm stays where it is. Arthur leans back, thuds his head against the side of the mattress. The two stay like that; outside, the wind howls and shutters clack and bounce off the siding of the house.

“You shouldn’t go,” Arthur says finally. He doesn’t look at Merlin, but feels the boy’s hand tighten on his arm.

“I need to,” Merlin says sadly. “I—I think it’s best if I leave the house. Start a—” he inhales loudly, “— _new life_ an’ all, y’know. As my own man.”

Of course Merlin wanted his own house someday, a steady job working in a big city — who would wish to stay as a servant to a dying Southern family like theirs? “You gonna work in a factory? That’s hard labor. You sure your little—”Arthur pinches Merlin’s skinny upper arms, the teasing old between them, “—muscles can do the job?”

Merlin shakes him off, but smiles. “Nah, no factories. Gonna try to be a doctor. Gaius is thinking of starting his own practice in the city.”

He’s leaving, Arthur thinks, the panic honestly sinking in. _He’s leaving._ To lighten the moment, Arthur forces a snicker and ruffles the boy’s hair. “Doctors need to know how to read, _Mer_ lin!”

“Oh, fuck off.” But Merlin’s grinning at him and Arthur’s grinning back; his hand falls to the nape of his neck, sweaty from the humid heat. Something in Merlin’s eyes changes; his blue eyes darken, become heavy-lidded in the low light. Arthur’s mouth goes dry when he realizes how long and thick the boy’s eyelashes are, lovelier than any girl’s.

“Arthur?” Merlin says hoarsely. They’re staring at each other, entranced, Arthur reeling from his revelation. Almost unconsciously, Merlin’s eyes flicker down to his lips.

 _He’s leaving_ , Arthur thinks, and that is what gives him courage.

He closes the distance between them, joining their mouths. It’s dry and the chapped skin of their lips catch on each other, then his brain catches up to him and he jerks away. Merlin’s staring at him, blue eyes wide like a baby deer’s, a red flush staining his cheeks. _Oh, Lord, what have I done_ , Arthur thinks and frantically scoots backward—and—

— collides with the candlestick.

“Damn! Damn, damn, damn—” Arthur jumps as the flame travels up his sleeve and hits his arm against the mattress to kill it. “ _Damn_ it,” he growls, tugging at the burnt sleeve of his shirt.

“You're fine, you big baby,” Merlin says, a smiling softly as he puts his hand over Arthur’s on his arm. He’s gotten up, too, and they’re of a height. Then, the small smile still on his face, Merlin kisses him.

This time, Arthur doesn’t push him away. Merlin rests both of his hands on Arthur’s chest, his lips soft against Arthur’s. Arthur tilts his head to the side and opens his mouth, slides out a tongue to graze wetly along the part of Merlin’s lips; Merlin groan and fully opens for his tongue. He’s bad at this, a part of Arthur’s brain registers. Clumsily, he pushes his mouth against Arthur’s, making their teeth clack, but then groans deep and filthy, melting into Arthur’s chest when Arthur shoves his tongue into the back of his throat.

“You haven’t done this before,” Arthur says, gasping into his mouth, kissing him one last time before pulling away. He marvels at how red Merlin’s lips are, like the cherries that Morgana likes to have for breakfast.

“Who— would I have ever—done this with?” Merlin seems to be even more out of breath than him, flushed as he hangs on to the front of Arthur’s shirt. “I can’t believe this, Arthur. _Arthur_.”

“Merlin,” Arthur growls, and tugs him in with one hand to the back of the head for another open-mouthed kiss.

“You’ve locked the doors,” Merlin gasps, and Arthur whispers _Yes_ into his mouth and kisses him harder, plunges his tongue into that mouth and twists it viciously with Merlin’s. Merlin is awkward and untrained, actions gawky and too eager; Arthur eases up after their teeth clack together and simmers down to press open-mouthed, albeit chaste kisses, to Merlin’s ridiculously plush lips.

“I didn’t know you were—” Merlin breathes, and Arthur hesitates for a moment before moving his lips down the line of Merlin’s throat, nipping and biting. The skin is so soft and smooth, just like a woman’s. Arthur feels a red-hot possessiveness—he wants to cover that neck with flaring, _red_ bite marks, wants to see evidence of what he’s doing.

“Arthur—”

“Shut up,” Arthur mutters, and drags his teeth over the bobbing bump in the boy’s throat. Merlin cries out, rests the back of his head against the side of the mattress as Arthur attacks his throat again, kisses, licks, bites, and sucks; very quickly, Arthur realizes that the underside of Merlin’s neck is sensitive and he peppers the tender skin there with kisses. Merlin moans and shudders underneath his hands and mouth. Arthur barely registers when he gasps,

“Arthur, stop—stop, _please_ —”

He reigns himself in, pulls back and stares with dazed eyes at the young man in front of him. _Oh Lord. What has he done?_

“Arthur, I—are you sure about this?” Merlin is breathing heavily, splayed against the edge of his bed. Arthur focuses in on the pink marks already forming on his neck and then his red, puffy lips, and he has to hang his head in his hands.

“Shit.”

“Do you—” Merlin gulps uncertainly, then purses his mouth and frowns. “Do you do this… often?”

Arthur looks up and narrows his eyes at him. The lust-filled need is almost gone. Just thinking of the Lord and the penance he’ll have to go through… “What do you mean?”

“This. What we just—did.” Merlin sets his jaw determinedly. “Kissing boys.”

Arthur flushes and looks down. “No. N-Not at all.”

“Have you with Lance—”

“No! Goodness, no.” Arthur’s eyes are wide and shocked. “Are you out of your mind?”

“Well, he’s… handsome.”

Arthur shakes his head, looks at him, then shakes it some more. He hadn’t heard of Merlin ever going off with girls— he’d always teased the boy of being in love with Morgana, but he’d denied it vehemently. “Merlin, are you—a sodomite?”

His voice trembles on the word. Merlin’s shoulders stiffen and he looks defiant, crouched against the side of the bed much like he’d used to when he and Arthur had been little boys and Arthur had accused him of stealing a toy. “So what if I am?”

Arthur opens his mouth, then closes it. It’s not _fine._ But he’d a hypocrite, a filthy hypocrite if he condemned Merlin for it. “How long?”

“Since I’ve been of age,” Merlin says, gaze still strong and rebellious. “I’ve never fancied a woman.”

Arthur has. He’s had sex with girls in the town. He’d been fifteen the first time he’d lain with a woman. She’d been in her mid-twenties, a prostitute in one of the brothels. She’d sucked him off and ridden him on a creaky bed on the topmost floor of the establishment. But Merlin… Merlin had always been there. The gangly child with too many limbs and black hair messy all over like a crow’s nest. He doesn’t know when his love and brotherly feeling of protection toward the boy turned into something like… this. Well, to be honest, he thinks he’s always known it. His lips, his face, his startlingly blue eyes…

Merlin had grown to be quite beautiful.

“You kissed me first, Arthur,” Merlin says testily. “And if you promise not to give me a black eye, I’m going to kiss you again.”

Merlin starts to edge forward, but Arthur grabs his forearm. “Stop, I—I—”

 _I don’t know what I’m doing_.

Merlin’s gaze softens. “It’s okay—”

“It’s not okay,” Arthur hisses, shaking Merlin’s shoulders. If he makes Merlin understand, maybe he’ll back off, maybe this will turn out to be a dream. A dream like he the ones he’s had in the past. Full of guilty pleasures—bodies twisting together, of him stifling his cries against Merlin’s sweaty neck. “This—this is an aberration—”

“You really need to shut up,” Merlin mutters, and he suddenly pulls Arthur into a tight hug. His arms, skinny but strong, wrap around his chest and Arthur finds himself holding on with equal pressure, burying his face into Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin is his friend, his oldest friend.

And he feels the _same way_.

“It’s wrong,” Arthur whispers.

“No,” Merlin says quietly, his hand stroking down Arthur’s back. They stay like that for a long moment, until Arthur’s breathing deepens and steadies. “How long have you felt like this?”

Arthur doesn’t move his face from Merlin’s neck. This position is comforting. Merlin’s hand caressing his back is comforting. “A long time,” Arthur confesses. “For you, mostly.”

Arthur stiffens as Merlin presses a kiss to the side of Arthur’s face, next to his eye. Arthur realizes that tears are dripping down Merlin’s cheeks. “What’s wrong?” he says, pulling back and touching his thumb to his face. “Why are you—”

“I—I thought I was the only one,” Merlin gasps, clutching the front of Arthur’s shirt and shuddering tightly, like he’s going to explode into fragments. “I l-loved you so much—”

“Oh, Merlin,” Arthur says, and then they’re hugging again, clinging to each other. Arthur pulls back, wipes the tears off of the boy’s face and kisses his forehead, then his eyelids, his nose. Arthur kisses him once on the lips, then again. And again. They curl their tongues together and kiss sloppily. Merlin’s hand sneaks up the back of his shirt and Arthur finds that he doesn’t mind the slightest.

“How long?” Merlin asks again, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.

“Same as you,” Arthur admits, and experiences a thrill when Merlin smiles wide and bright.

“And you never told me?”

“I—no, of course not. I couldn’t have—”

“I understand,” Merlin says quickly. “You’ve slept with so many women.”

Arthur looks away uncomfortably, down at Merlin’s knees that are wedged between his own splayed legs. “They were there.”

“I get it. I really do.” Merlin takes his chin and tips it up. He kisses him once, and then pushes him gently so that he sits on the bed.

“I’ve always wanted to… do this. Even when you were being a brat.”

“I was _never_ —”

Merlin drops to the bed beside him and kisses the words out of his mouth. His hands land on Arthur’s shoulders and Merlin climbs easily into his lap. Arthur makes a noise of discomfort, breaking the kiss. “Ugh. You’re heavy.”

“Says the one who weighs more than five sacks of potatoes,” Merlin counters, his fingers trailing down Arthur’s front. “Take this off.”

“I…” Arthur colors darkly. He’s never had problem taking off his clothes—not in front of women—but this is _Merlin_ —

“Or I’ll do it for you,” Merlin whispers into his ear, his clever fingers already undoing the first button beneath his collarbone.

“Stop,” Arthur croaks, batting his hands away. With Merlin leaning over him, he unbuttons the shirt and discards it.

“And this,” Merlin says, tugging at his white undershirt. Arthur sighs and pushes Merlin out of his lap so that he can take that off, too. Merlin’s eyes go wide and his mouth parts, a hint of tongue wetting the corner of his lips. Heat sinks into Arthur’s abdomen at the sight.

“Your turn,” Arthur says, feeling like a predator, a jungle cat, as he crawls forward on his hands and knees and pushes Merlin flat onto the bed. Merlin squeaks and struggles for a brief second but Arthur is on him, kissing him fiercely, pressing him into the pillows. Arthur undoes his shirt quickly, rips it away from his body— he’s only wearing one layer, thank God. Merlin surges up into him, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s thick shoulders and hooking one leg around the other man’s thigh. Arthur’s hands rove all over, sometimes pausing at the small of Merlin’s back, down to his ass, and then up and around to his chest, feeling the corded muscle of his abdomen, and then higher—

“Oh,” Merlin gasps, breaking away from the kiss and gasping wetly to the side. Arthur has just found his nipple. Mesmerized by the red flush and sudden gasps, Arthur twists the nub between his fingers, and then pulls on it sharply. “Arthur!” Merlin hits him on the shoulder, but Arthur smirks and lowers his head to swipe his tongue over it, delighted when Merlin’s body goes tense beneath him.

“I’d never thought you’d enjoy this,” Arthur muses as he licks and drags his teeth over the nipple.  
  
“W-What is t-that supposed to—oh, _Arthur_ , you—”

“Women like this,” Arthur says, thinking of how he’d pleasured girls before.

“I’m not a— _Arthur!_ ”

Arthur pulls his mouth off the crimson-red nub. “You were saying?”

“You prick, asshole, son of a—”

Arthur tsks under his breath and starts to kiss down Merlin’s chest; he revels in the soft hairs he comes across. He lavishes attention onto Merlin’s soft stomach, burying his face into the skin, feeling Merlin shudder underneath him. Hands come to clutch his hair, and Arthur turns his face, brushes his nose against his wrist, and kisses his palm.

“Arthur,” Merlin says softly, pulling him by the shoulders. Arthur moves up and kisses him fiercely and mouth; their arms go around each other, and Arthur holds him tightly and Merlin squeezes his deceptively wiry arms around his chest so that he feels the breath being pushed out of him with every fervent kiss he places on the boy’s lips. “I love you, I love you, I love you—”

“I love you,” Arthur replies, kissing Merlin’s cheek again, and then his nose, his eyelids, forehead, every bit of his face. Their lower bodies rub against each other, and Merlin shudders and falls apart in his arms. God, he loves him, he loves him _more than anything in this world—_

Arthur presses his face into Merlin’s neck, gasping, as he touches him between the legs. Shaking, muscles tightening, he cries out as he comes into Merlin’s hand.

“Shhh,” Merlin says into his hair, wrapping his arms around his shoulders. Tremors wrack his body as he curls his arms around Merlin’s thin body. “We’re okay. We’re fine. Touch me, God, I’m begging you, touch me all you want. I love you.”

Throat choked and chest too tight, Arthur kisses Merlin soundly, melding their bodies together until they're one being.

Dawn finds them curled over messy sheets, resting loosely in each other's arms. Merlin had nodded off asleep after their third round of love-making, and Arthur had pulled him carefully into the curve of his body, not minding the sweat that beaded on their bodies and stuck them together in the stifling room. The pale rays of sunlight had been no reprieve—they only promise a sweltering day, but Arthur fully intends to stay indoors, wiling the hours away with Merlin.

When Merlin wakes, he kisses the corner of Arthur’s mouth and says, “You’re having thoughts again.” He brushes the side of his face with his fingers. “What’s wrong? I thought I banished those insecurities of yours last night.”

Arthur flushes and turns, remembering quite vividly how Merlin had pushed him down and—and _sat_ on him. God.

“Hey,” Merlin says softly, hugging him. “We’re okay,” he whispers into his ear. “We’ll be okay.”

Arthur hesitates for a moment. He knows the truth. He knows it’s dangerous, what they are. What they’re doing.

“You’re everything to me,” Merlin says softly, pulling back so that he can look Arthur in the eye; his eyes are clear blue in the faint sunlight. Arthur leans forward to kiss him on the tip of the nose.

“Just as you are to me, idiot.”

Merlin huffs and places both hands on Arthur’s bare chest. “Then why must you look like that? You’re ruining the mood. You’re wasting time worrying when we _could_ be doing something _else_ —”

Arthur chuckles and allows Merlin to wrap his arms around his neck as he kisses him. They fall onto their sides on the bed, wrestling with each other. Merlin ends up on top because Arthur lets him and he pins Arthur’s shoulders to mattress, grinning as he ducks his head to press their lips together.

“What are you so happy about?”

“Oh, nothing.” Merlin smiles goofily, the edges of his hair lit golden with sunshine. “I was just thinking… I better tell Gaius to expect another passenger on the carriage.”

Arthur frowns for a brief second. “You mean—”

“To the North, o’ course.” Merlin smiles, releasing Arthur and flopping down half on the mattress- half draped across Arthur’s chest. “You’re coming with me. Now that I have you, there’s no way in hell I’m letting you go.”

And that… that fills Arthur with unspeakable joy. He’d never intended to stay at the plantation into his twenties. “We can travel,” Arthur says quietly, watching Merlin’s eyes light up. “To Pennsylvania, New York… then Europe, if you want.”

“Paris, Florence— even Greece!” Merlin laughs, vibrating with delight. Arthur raises himself onto an elbow and indulges himself in a long, tender kiss. Their lips rub and stick together, and Merlin’s fingers card through his hair.  As long as he has Merlin close to him, this fiery love and tender touch on his skin, he knows that they will be fine. Absolutely fine.

 

 


End file.
